


Prospect

by havenborn (sinistra_blache)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dirty Talk, FFXV Kink Week, Healer Ardyn, M/M, Shield Gilgamesh, ancient dicks, authority kink, pre-game, spoilers for main game stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 17:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistra_blache/pseuds/havenborn
Summary: No-one has ever called him Your Majesty.But one person came close, once.





	Prospect

The sun through the trees dapples light on the ground, sometimes lingering long enough to warm Ardyn’s skin where he sits. It’s a mild day even with the sun out and Ardyn so rarely gets to have the time off. 

His brother has disappeared, most likely napping in a sunbeam as he usually does on quiet days, leaving Ardyn with their warrior bodyguard watching over him. 

“You could at least try to do something of use,” Gilgamesh complains. Ardyn smiles at his tone; soft and teasing, accepting. Tired. He is about ready to spend the day doing little, too. They’ve been on the road for weeks, perhaps months, helping and healing the sick as they go. Gilgamesh is well used to telling Ardyn and his brother to stop lazing and get back to work when necessary and Ardyn suspects that it’s mere habit that keeps him griping. 

“Suggest something to me then, my dearest Shield of Lucis,” Ardyn indulges, which earns him a bright, brief smile. 

“Study, Ardyn,” is the suggestion he receives. He groans at the thought of it, throwing his hand over his face. Gilgamesh continues. “You will be king. Do you know everything you need to?”

“Does anyone? Leave me be, Gil.” 

“Tell that to your people when they come asking for royal guidance,” Gilgamesh teases further. Ardyn pulls out some grass from beside his head and throws a cloud of blades at Gilgamesh’s face. 

“Do not remind me of the burden that will fall on me,” Ardyn whines. Gil laughs quietly, dusting the grass from him. “I’ll grow old and fat, spoiled in some palace.” 

“You don’t want that? To be free of your duties on the road?”

“I am only of use to the people as I am,” Ardyn admits. He looks up through the leaves on the trees, avoiding Gilgamesh’s golden eyes and giving himself a chance to speak the truth for once. “The gods granted their Crystal and its promises of a crown, but what use will I be after I have used this magic to heal Lucis?” 

“You will be a king,” Gilgamesh says, voice level and welcome. Ardyn slowly turns his head to meet the warrior’s eyes, burning with amber intensity. “You will be able to decide what use you’ll be.” 

Ardyn hums, unable to deny the sweetness in the words. The warmth on his skin from the sun, nothing compared to the glow from Gilgamesh’s prediction. “Tell me more.” 

Gil places his hand on the curve of Ardyn’s hip but nothing more. He doesn’t move. He barely exerts pressure. Still, it’s as though Ardyn’s whole body strains for more attention as soon as it’s done. His lips part and Gil continues, smiling at Ardyn’s already obvious excitement. 

“I’ll be by your side,” Gil promises softly. It is a promise that they have made to each other many times before though it never loses its intensity. “At your word, I will do as you please. My land’s savior and my king.” 

Ardyn laughs, meaning to dismiss the way Gil was making him feel with words alone, meaning to dismiss the heat rising up his neck and the slow aching persistence in his trousers. He means to laugh and act cool, but his breath hitches without warning and the laugh comes out shaky. Obvious. Gil flashes another smile. 

“I knew you would like that. Ardyn Caelum, pious Chosen of the Crystal, getting hard at the thought of having me at your beck and call,” Gilgamesh rumbles, as obvious as Ardyn himself. “You are not a small man, Ardyn. Not weak. It can’t be the idea of controlling my strength that spurs that in you. What is it?”

A complicated question, and one that Ardyn ignores with practiced ease. He deflects. “Would you use my name in court? You could, of course. Show everyone around you that you are special to me.” 

Gil hums, pressing his thumb into Ardyn’s flesh. His hand hasn’t moved, not touched him more than a gentle press, but Ardyn still fights the urge to arch up into it. 

“I would be beholden to the man, not the title,” Gil answers, the rumble in his voice turned to an intimate whisper. “Is that what you want?”

Ardyn closes his eyes. He imagines a palace court full of faces he doesn’t know, the faces of people who expect leadership from him, faces of people who will get that from him. He imagines Gilgamesh, self-titled Shield of Lucis, kneeling before him in front of all those faces. He imagines Gil’s voice, deep and honeyed, speaking Ardyn’s name in front of nobles and the Crystal and everyone. He imagines their scandaled gasps. 

“No,” he says out loud, honest. He opens his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t want my name.” 

Gil lifts himself, moving closer. Ardyn can smell the sun on his skin. “What would you have me call you?” Ardyn shrugs, not answering. “My lord?” Gil offers, then chuckles when Ardyn screws up his face in displeasure. “Not good enough, I see. So imperious for someone so silent. Surely there is some title that would please you.” 

“I would be a king,” Ardyn reminds him lowly. He places his hand on top of Gil’s for a moment, a breath, then moves it himself. His heart is pounding like he’s being chased, his skin crying out for contact. He takes Gil’s hand and presses it to his erection, then lets the moan fall from his lips. 

Gil’s golden eyes darken with lust. “My king,” he confirms. Ardyn shudders against the sensory impact of Gil’s voice, touch, gaze and intent. He amends his fantasy; Gilgamesh kneeling and swearing fealty to his king, to Ardyn. Another moan escapes and Gil rubs his hand against Ardyn through his clothes. “My liege,” Gil continues, testing the waters. When Ardyn doesn’t complain it’s as good as encouragement. “I would call you by your title in the court and in your bed. No-one the wiser to it.” 

Ardyn lets his head fall back and lifts his hips to grind against Gil’s palm. He wants skin on skin. He wants to sit on Gilgamesh and ride him until they both came apart at the seams. He wants to hear more words and for this debased agony to continue as the sun sets. 

He wants it all. 

“Tell me about that,” Ardyn gasps under Gil’s touch. “Tell me what you would do for your king.” 

“In your bed?” Gil inquires. He huffs when, once more, Ardyn doesn’t respond. “You’ll have me guess, I see. Your bed doesn’t matter. You could have anyone you like as chosen ruler of the land.” 

“I choose you, my Shield,” Ardyn tells him the truth, sees no reason to hide it. Gil’s eyes flutter shut as though Ardyn’s words themselves were stroking his skin. “I want you.” 

“The throne,” Gilgamesh announces roughly. His other hand has snaked under his own armor. When Ardyn moves his hand, Gil’s armor shifts——mirroring the contact. “You like it when I kneel, so I would kneel for you as you sit on the throne. How would you have me, my king?”

Ardyn begins to fumble with the ties of his clothes, desperate to have skin on skin. “I would have you touch me,” he practically grumbles and Gilgamesh laughs. 

“Is that all?” Gil snakes his hand through the opening in Ardyn’s trousers so gently that Ardyn feels the urge to slap the Shield right then and there. He rolls his hips, forcing Gil’s hand flush to his erection. It’s nearly enough, but Gil merely presses his palm against the shaft and stills. “Does this please you, my king?”

He can feel it, surely, when Ardyn stiffens further against his palm. If Gil only moved a finger he would be able to feel Ardyn leaking already; made a mess of himself at the suggestion of having Gilgamesh prostrate at his feet, at hearing a royal title on Gil’s full lips. 

“It would please me more if you were under me.” Ardyn speaks and sounds angry to his own ears, though all Gil does is smile wider. Ardyn wants him to bare teeth. “You could serve your king by being ridden like a beast.” 

Gil’s head tips forward, his braids falling over his shoulders and shaking with his shudders, and Ardyn continues. 

“On a throne I would have you take me. Press me into the wood. Drive yourself into me until I could barely see,” Ardyn describes. When he can take the teasing twitches of Gil’s fingers no more, he grips his bodyguard’s wrist tight enough to bruise if he keeps at it. Gilgamesh does not look up to meet his eyes, but knows the command well enough; he curls his fingers around Ardyn’s erection and starts to, finally, blissfully, relieve Ardyn of building need that his words have created. “I would have you wait until the evening before you could find your release. I would send you about your duties knowing that only I could grant you peace.” 

“Ardyn…” Gil gasps, the hint of begging on his voice almost enough to bring Ardyn out of his fantasy. But it’s wrong. 

“No.” 

Gilgamesh Amicitia is a soldier before all else. A man of discipline and of order. His need for direction and his martial control were what made him the best choice in the country for a bodyguard to Ardyn and his brother. Ardyn suspects it to be the case for many soldiers, though he has only become close to this one, that they all enjoy receiving direction a little more than most. 

Gil, in particular, always responds deliciously. 

His moan comes out low and gruff, too quiet to ring through the trees but deep enough that the sound of it alone could bring Ardyn to the edge of reason. He looks up through his braids, hawk-golden eyes locking with Ardyn’s own. Gilgamesh’s breath comes labored, his chest lifting and falling in time with his hand while he strokes Ardyn still. 

Ardyn licks his lips. His own lust practically forgotten, as though he were not close to begging himself mere moments ago. Such was the beauty of Gilgamesh beside him, coming undone before his eyes. “Do it properly, Shield.” 

“Highness,” Gil says. Ardyn’s breath hitches instantly; using one of Ardyn’s actual titles instead of one of the fantastical future that has yet to find them is a dirty move. Ardyn loves it. “Highness, please.” 

“You would beg like that,” Ardyn tells him. It’s an acceptance and Gil knows it well. He bows his head again and starts to undo the catches on his armor with his free hand. Anyone else would fumble but Gilgamesh is a man of unworldly grace, the bastard. “At the end of the day after you’ve been busy all day trying to be a good soldier, all the while slowly dying for the word of your king, you would beg.” 

“I would,” Gil agrees. Something clicks and his breastplate falls to the ground. “I would love it, Highness.” 

As though Gil has his own brand of magic to call upon, urgency washes over Ardyn without warning. He loosens his grip on Gil’s wrist while pulling him away from his strokes before it’s too late. As in keeping with the theme of their tryst it would be, Ardyn refuses to finish without Gil like some uncaring lord taking advantage of his servant. 

If nothing else, watching Gil reach his orgasm is always something Ardyn wants to do. Were he not a man dedicated to his people’s salvation, he would find a way to have Gil all hours of the day. 

In order to help Ardyn out of his many layers of clothes, Gil has to stop undressing himself. The state of him is breathtaking and, while Gil pulls Ardyn’s trousers off, he takes a moment to really appreciate the man in front of him. 

Half in armor. Dirty undershirt barely covering his chest. Bronzed skin gently flushed with lust. Lips parted, head still bowed in deference. Eager to the point of giving up with Ardyn only half undressed before rushing back to his own coverings. The bob of Gilgamesh’s own erection and how heavy and flushed it always looks when he gets this far without being touched. 

“You aren’t--” Gil begins, pulling Ardyn closer by his hips. An unnecessary but welcome show of strength. 

He can feel the heat of their bodies meet, can feel how close they are to getting what they both want, and Ardyn couldn’t care less about how unprepared he is or how long it’s been since they’ve had the chance to do this while on the road. 

“I could not care less,” he all-but growls. “Am I not a healer? I will heal. Do it, Shield.” 

Before he’s finished talking, Gilgamesh is pressing into him. At Ardyn’s word, eyes closed already in bliss, Gil answers him. “As you wish, Highness.” 

The noises that escape Ardyn’s throat when Gil starts to push into him are ignored, though a flock of birdbeasts are scared from their nests. Ardyn hears them flutter away as soon as Gil bottoms out. For a moment, the only sound left on the star is their breathing, close to being in time with each other, still-clothed chests pressing together as Gil holds Ardyn flush to him. 

It’s tender, for a moment. The stretch and burning is nice, even. Ardyn can feel Gil’s heartbeat along with his own. But even that is not enough before long. He rolls his hips and they both moan in one voice——though Gil’s comes with a laugh. 

“This is the only time you never use your words,” he accuses. “The only time you don’t love the sound of your own voice.” 

“Shut up,” Ardyn smiles, baring teeth. Gil begins to move as he speaks; his words turn into breaths. “Shut me up.” 

“As my king commands,” is the last thing that Gilgamesh manages to articulate before all is lost to sweat and flesh.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be real, it got super late and I wanted to get this posted in time for the first day of the kink week. 
> 
> I can't believe I faded to black, forgive me. There might be a follow up as an apology.


End file.
